


Grand Theft Octo

by Cattraine



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 03:40:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4044499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cattraine/pseuds/Cattraine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Danny is no cephalopod expert, but he’s pretty sure regular octopi don’t hang around the docks getting drunk from stolen beer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grand Theft Octo

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: NOT betaed!
> 
> An OctoSteve AU. I know, I can’t stop writing the damned things. Crack is Addictive, people.

Grand Theft Octo

 

“It’s a octopus, brah.” 

Meka says helpfully, white teeth flashing in a way too amused face. 

Danny gives him a withering look. He knows what an octopus looks like, Grace forces him to watch Animal Planet on a regular basis. He stabs a finger at his partner menacingly.

“Stop that. I know it’s a damned octopus! I was just wondering why it’s blue. Aren’t they normally brown or reddish?”

They both stare down into the water beside the dock they are standing on. The octopus stares back, with a considering look, which Danny finds disconcerting. But again, Danny finds everything about this damned pineapple infested chunk of volcanic rock disconcerting.

“Yeah, you don’t see that color often in a Pacific octopus that size, but it’s not unknown. They can change colors and they’re really intelligent. That is a big guy too.”

“Oh. Well, good to know.” Danny replies doubtfully, blinking as the octopus raises a tentacle in a tentative wave. He quickly drops the hand he was lifting to wave back and turns to Meka with a sigh. Great, now he is hallucinating. Too much goddamned Hawaiian sunshine, clearly this island is bad for his health.

Danny has been working for Aloha Security now for three months and is bored shitless. All he does is patrol the warehouses along the docks of the Honolulu Harbor with Meka and occasionally roust some wino or skinny kid with a can of spray paint trying to tag a ship or a warehouse. The HPD is still in a hiring freeze, which is why he, Detective Sergeant Daniel Williams, decorated police officer with 89 solved murders under his belt, formerly from Newark, is now dressed in the scratchy polyester uniform of a rent-a-cop, complete with fake badge and cheap, squeaky shoes. He mourns his loss of dignity yet again.

Meka is here weekends to earn some extra money on the side from his job at HPD, so he and Amy can afford the down payment on a house. Prices here on Oahu are outrageous, which is also why Danny now lives in a tiny centipede-infested rat hole of a studio apartment, 5000 miles from home, just for the chance to spend every other weekend with his little girl. Each weekend evening he and Meka meet here on Dock 6, jaw for a few minutes, then split up to patrol and meet back at the end of shift. The night and graveyard shifts are especially boring.

“So, any leads on that McGarrett guy’s disappearance?”

“No, brah, and it’s driving Chin Ho Kelly lolo. One minute Steve was chasing down a perp on Dock 4 and the next, Chin and Kono nab the guy, but no McGarrett in sight. They found his gun lying out in the open and even dived off the dock to see if the perp deep-sixed him.”

“Weird.”

“Any witnesses?”

“Just Auntie Pua, the bag lady who hangs around the maritime center. She said Steve knocked her off her feet and ran off without apologizing. She called him a rude haole.”

“Huh. Well, I’ll see you at midnight.” 

Danny waves absently and they part, each patrolling their section of the harbor. He finds himself chewing over the disappearance of the former Navy SEAL. The story was splashed all over the news here when he first arrived. 

Danny is a detective. He detects, he cannot stop detecting, which is why he is so damned good at his job and also why he is divorced. He makes a mental note to see if Meka can secure him a copy of the file. Maybe a set of fresh eyes will help. He needs a hobby anyway, and no way is he setting foot in that shark and jellyfish-infested ocean or hanging on the beach getting sand in unmentionable places and getting his fair Irish skin fried to a crisp.

Around eight, Danny decides its time for dinner and goes to the tiny guard shack and pulls his pathetic brown paper bag out of the tiny fridge. It’s a clear moonlit night so he decides to eat outside on the dock and look out over the water. The city lights are really pretty across the harbor. He sits down on the edge of the dock, and pulls his lone pastrami sandwich out of the bag, along with his can of generic root beer. Somewhere along this very dock, Steve McGarrett went missing.

“So. McGarrett, what happened to you?” he mumbled to himself as he took a bite of sandwich and washed it down with a chug of root beer. 

The next moment, he nearly chokes to death at the loud, enthusiastic splash beneath his feet, as a wet, blue mottled, bulbous head pops up from beneath the water and peers hopefully up at him with large eyes, all eight limbs churning the water.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Shit!” 

Danny scrambles hastily back from the edge of the dock, nearly dropping his dinner in the process. He has seen plenty of cheap aquatic horror films, thank you very much, and has no intention of ending up as Octo chow. Clutching his sandwich and can of pop to his chest, he watches cautiously as a tentacle pops up over the edge of the dock…and helpfully waves the napkins he did drop at him. 

Heart still pounding, Danny ventures back to where he was sitting and peers into the water. A familiar large, blue octopus peers back and silently offers him his now soggy napkins. Huffing out a breath, Danny forces himself to calm the fuck down and sit back down. He is careful to sit tailor fashion and not dangle his feet over the edge within reach of stealthy, potentially dangerous tentacles. The napkins are deposited neatly by his side, and the tentacle quietly withdrawn. This is a very interesting psychotic break he is having.

“Yeah…um, thanks?” 

Great, now he is reduced to talking out loud to strange blue octopi, which apparently hang out at the docks and attempt cephalopod-to-human communication. Maybe this is just a hallucination? No wonder Meka calls him a howlie. Snorting to himself in disgust, he takes another bite of sandwich and chews meditatively while he studies his new friend, who studies him right back with interest. Danny chuckles mentally to himself, because really, he really is being silly. After all, it’s just an octopus, not a person and Danny is obviously reading more intelligence into its actions then he should.

“So, buddy, you got a name?” He asks jovially, a friendly grin on his face.

The grin dies when a tentacle pops up and slaps a set of dog tags down beside his left foot. Danny does drop his sandwich in his lap and wishes fervently that his can of root beer was considerably stronger stuff, because when he recovers enough to pick them up, the words McGarrett, Steven J., US NAVY along with a social security number engraved on them and wink up at him reflected under the sodium light.

How the hell is he going to explain this to Lieutenant Chin Ho Kelly? Danny suspects that octopus procured evidence isn’t going to go over well at either HPD or the 5-0 offices, especially when produced by a blond howlie outsider. How is this even possible? And why is he sitting here talking to a fish? Danny scowls down at the huge cephalopod, which stares belligerently right back. How is this his life?

“You have got to be shitting me! How do I explain how I got this?”

And why is he still talking to an octopus as though he expects an answer? Said octopus stared expectantly up at him, two tentacles crossed and a third tapping the surface of the water impatiently, waiting for Danny to get with the program. Danny scowled. He was being judged by an octopus.

Danny paused in mid rant and peered suspiciously down at his can of cheap Wal-Mart root beer. Boy, was he going to give customer service a piece of his mind. Drugging one’s frequent customers with hallucinogens in cheap soda was not acceptable in any shape or form, not even from evil mega-corporations. Jumping to his feet he stomped away to his car to call in sick, ignoring the loud (desperate) splashes behind him and drove straight home to self-medicate with something considerably stronger. 

It wasn’t until he was seated on his crappy pullout sofa bed, economy sized bottle of aspirin in hand and a beer in the other, that he realized he was still holding McGarrett’s dog tags. Careful not to touch the tags themselves, he sealed them into a zip lock baggie. Danny is a cop, and he cannot ignore evidence, even hallucinated evidence. If they are still on the coffee table in the morning when he wakes up, he will drop them off at 5-0. He pops three tablets and forces himself to lie down and go to sleep.

The tags are the first thing he sees when he wakes, lying there in a morning sunbeam streaming in the window. 

He flops over and pulls his pillow over his head with a groan. Shit. He has the next two days off, and no Gracie to entertain, so he mans up and gets dressed, taking care to don professional attire, carefully styling his hair and knotting his black silk tie. A crisp white shirt, charcoal slacks and shiny black, Italian loafers complete the outfit. 

Satisfied that he at least looks sane, he picks up the baggie and marches out the door to his car. By the time he pulls into a parking spot near the Iolani Palace, he has come to his senses and decided that he will just report that he found the tags at the end of the dock and let 5-0 worry about it. After all, Danny has plans to be employed here at HPD soon, and he definitely does not want to start the job with a rep as an octopus whisperer. Once inside, he easily finds the directory and heads upstairs to 5-0’s spacious offices. He hopes there is a receptionist with whom he can just leave the tags and slip away, but no such luck.

Instead he finds a slim Hawaiian woman with tired eyes and a grim Korean guy, whose cheekbones could slice butter, poring over some files brought up on the overhead screens of an impressive high tech table. As much as he would love to linger (Danny is a naturally inquisitive individual, not nosy, thank you) he keeps it short and to the point, but isn’t really too surprised to be subjected to an intense round of questioning. He answers politely, but succinctly and manages to leave twenty minutes later after dropping Meka’s name as a reference. Still, he isn’t surprised to glance over his shoulder as he exits the office and see his own face flash up on the overhead screen. 

He approves, he would check out everyone too, if his partner went missing.

Once he has dropped off Steve’s tags, he finds himself at loose ends. Telling himself that he needs a couple of good books to read he heads to the library. He grabs a copy of the latest Winslow mystery, then kind of sort of maybe meanders into the oceanography and marine biology section and peruses a couple of books on the local marine fauna. If there happen to be several interesting books on cephalopods that he skims through, it’s strictly coincidental. 

Only when he finds himself parked in front of a computer two hours later, googling everything he can find on the McGarrett case, does he admit that, yes, he is in fact (unofficially) working the case. He finds several excellent articles by a woman journalist, Lori Weston, who apparently had a hell of a crush on the guy, if her gushing articles are anything to go on. She did an excellent write up of his impressive navy career in the SEALs and Military Intelligence and even walked the crime scene and worked up a detailed map, complete with measurements and photos of the area where McGarrett vanished. She even braved the crazy and interviewed the bag lady, Auntie Pua. 

Danny finds himself downloading all this information on the handy flash drive he carries on his key chain, not just because of the crisp photo of McGarrett (the guy has ridiculous eyelashes) in his dress blues, but because the reporter included a photo of Auntie Pua as well, and mentioned in the article that while half the time the old lady was babbling about rude young men, the other half she was babbling about octopuses and about how much more polite they were. 

Danny then finds himself enlarging the photo of Auntie Pua and staring into a pair of shrewd brown eyes. Sly eyes set in a wrinkled, crafty face under a head of fleecy, white hair topped with a floppy, straw hat wreathed with leis and studded with cowrie shells. He sits back from the computer and pinches the bridge of his nose, hard.

Shit. 

If its one thing that Daniel Jacob Williams recognizes at first sight it’s a witch. 

Sighing deeply he turns pleading eyes heavenward, knowing full well that he is in this on his own now, and if he isn’t careful and respectful in his pursuit of this case that he is probably going to spend the rest of his life slithering around on the ocean floor playing seashell tiddily-winks with Octo Steve. Both sides of Danny’s family come from the ‘old county’—his maternal side has ties in Sicily and his paternal side has roots still sunk deep in Ireland. 

Danny grew up at the knees of not one, but two formidable grannies. Two grannies who not only were the terror of the neighborhoods they ruled with iron fists, but who were thick as thieves and Danny had the distinct honor of being the first born grandson and by default the favorite (spoiled rotten) grandchild. He learned a lot in basil, garlic and cabbage scented kitchens, and not all of it family cookery recipes (although neither his lasagna or his lamb stew can be beat.) 

Nona Carlotta came from a long line of Sicilian streghe. Her own great, great, whatever grandmother had escaped the Inquisition by the skin of her teeth and fled into exile, conveniently eloping with the eldest son of the Witchfinder. Granny Bride came from County Clare and a long line of hedge witches and cunning women and men, to New Jersey where she placidly proceeded to populate half the state with a dozen fair-headed, loud, fiery-tempered Williams offspring. To say that their devout Catholicism was merely a thin veneer to the Old Religion was an understatement--after all, what better place to hide then in plain sight in front of the altar of a powerful church?

Resigned to more research, Danny spends another couple of hours in the Hawaiian Mythology section and ends up finally just checking out a half dozen hefty tomes after his stomach launches a loudly vocal campaign for sustenance and the librarian silently laughs at him. 

He leaves with dignity, dumps his books in the car and walks to a small Vietnamese hole in the wall restaurant where he orders a bowl of beef noodle pho the size of his head. Afterwards, he finds himself driving towards the maritime center. He parks and wanders around for a couple of hours, walking off his lunch, but there is no sign of Auntie Pua. He’s kind of grateful for that, because he really isn’t ready to talk to her yet.

Somehow he finds himself strolling along the docks he patrols at night. A group of sport fishermen, talking and gesturing catch his attention and he walks over close enough to see what the uproar is about. Three of the four men are laughing and jeering at the fourth, who is flushed beet red with indignation and yelling at them.

“I am telling the truth! That goddamned octopus popped up and stole the case of beer I bought, right off the goddamned deck!”

“Brah, you need to stay off the pakalolo! If you forgot to bring the brew, just say so, man.”

Still protesting, the hapless man follows his friends down the dock to where their sport boat is tied up.

Danny is no cephalopod expert, but he’s pretty sure normal octopi don’t hang around the docks getting drunk off of stolen beer. How exactly do octopi drink in an ocean anyway? He heads down to the end of the slip where he last saw his tentacled friend. The water laps gently against the pilings, and a small green turtle cruises by. There is no sign of a sullen, drunken blue octopus. 

Danny stands there for a few minutes, trying to think of where he would go, if he were on a cephalopodic bender, but pretty much comes up blank. Just as he is about to move on, he hears a splash and a massive, wet belch echoing impressively from right under his feet and causing a mini tidal wave against the pilings. He snorts in amusement, but really, who can blame the guy? One minute you’re a hot Navy Commander and the next, you’re a squid’s first cousin.

“McGarrett? I know you’re down there. You got any beer left?” 

Danny takes a seat at the end of the dock after a casual glance around to make sure no one is within hearing distance. After all, the last thing he needs is a reputation as a nut who talks to himself, or the local fauna (and if maybe Danny spent a lot of time in his teens bailing his nutso ghost hunting cousin, Vince, out of jail, the less said, the better). There is silence for a few minutes, then Danny hears the clink of glass on glass and a rather shaky tentacle pops up and slams a beer onto the dock, then kind of clings pitifully to the dock.

“So, you pissed off Auntie Pua. Any idea of how to break the spell?” 

Danny rubs at the migraine building behind his eyes, because, yeah, octopus, here---no vocal cords to speak of. Maybe he has more in common with Vince then he thought. After a moment, another tentacle pops up and the tip drunkenly describes a shaky loop-de-loop in the air, apparently octo sign language for I got nothing.

“Yeah, buddy, me either.”

They wind up sitting companionably together –Danny on top of the dock and Steve floating under it---and share the rest of Steve’s purloined Longboards. Danny promises to do his best to break the spell and they shake on it, hand in tentacle. Finally Danny rather tipsily heads back to where he parked his car after reassuring a now distinctly greenish-mottled Steve to lie low and he would be back at work Sunday night. As Danny walks away, another resounding belch reverberates from under the dock. 

At least he hopes it’s a belch.

After Danny carefully drives home and inadvertently takes a little nap (he sat down and wham, ZZZZ) he pages through his library books to try and get a feel for the Hawaiian flavor of magic. He finds plenty of stories of men changing into sharks, but none about octopi. Apparently Auntie Pua has a rather black sense of humor. He is a bit disturbed to find that Pele is still hanging around the islands, and is fond of shape shifting into an old lady or hot red-head now and then, and makes a mental note to be extra polite to any Hawaiian female he runs into from now on. Finally he closes the last book and decides to see if maybe he can locate an authentic kahuna willing to give him some pointers without trying to sell him CDs of Hawaiian folk chants and songs, hula lessons, or crystals.

The only guy Danny can think to ask is Shamu, aka Kamekona, the big guy who runs the shave ice stand that is Gracie’s favorite. Danny is pretty sure Shamu has his pudgy finger in every illicit pot on the island, but he also knows (or is related to) everyone on Oahu, and gets all the best gossip. In other words, he is the best snitch that Danny has ever met. 

Kamekona listens to his request readily enough, then after a period of consideration (long enough for Danny to drop a twenty dollar bill on the counter as a tip) he gives Danny a shrewd look and tells him to go see a guy named Mamo, who runs a surfboard rental shop on the beach and tell him that Kamekona sent him.

Danny is on his way there, when there is a local news flash on the radio about an amusing incident down at the harbor where a large octopus apparently mugged and stole a tourist’s video camera. Danny isn’t too surprised to learn that the suspect was described as ‘large, blue and handsy’. Sighing, he turned his car around and headed down to the dock. He is kind of glad he is only a rent-a-cop now, because he really doesn’t want to be the one to arrest Steve. Besides, he doesn’t have enough pairs of handcuffs to take him into custody and he doubts if the drunk tank at HPD has an aquarium that would hold him.

He finds Steve easily enough, hanging out under ‘their’ dock and his impending lecture on exactly what laying low means and the potential consequences of a new career in cephalopodic grand theft is cut short when Steve pops up excitedly brandishing the stolen camera and Danny gets a look at the footage on the expensive, waterproof camcorder. After ten minutes of footage of a rather sunburned, plump, freckled, lei-bedecked midwestern family waving in front of various tourist traps, it cuts to an octopus level view of several shady characters loading a boat with some of the largest bales of weed Danny has ever seen. 

Steve even managed to shakily zoom in on the name of the vessel, the slip number and the perp’s faces (despite the occasional appearance of a tentacle tip at the corner of the viewfinder). Danny is impressed in spite of himself at Steve’s dedication to his job despite his obvious hangover --Steve is still tinged a rather sickly shade of pale green—and the fact that he is, well, still a giant Pacific octopus. 

Steve stares up at him hopefully and Danny finds himself offering to alert the police. After all, evidence is evidence, and those guys need to be busted before they leave the harbor. Steve gives him the octo version of a thumbs up, and Danny, after thinking quickly, calls Meka, who after giving him serious shit, finally takes him seriously, comes out and checks out the evidence and calls it in. What Danny is not expecting is for 5-0 to show up and orchestrate the take down. He puts two and two together and realizes they probably think the dealers had something to do with Steve’s disappearance. At this point in the investigation, they probably think their friend is dead.

Danny can only jam his hands in his pockets and pace the dock and watch wistfully from afar as Meka and HPD and Five-O move in and arrest the owners of the boat. There is an angry, frustrated splash over the side of the dock and a couple of tentacles curl over the edge as Steve watches his team efficiently take down the drug runners. Danny realizes that as frustrating as it is for him to be sidelined from the action, it must be doubly so for the commander of Five-O. 

“I hear you Buddy. Look, I think I know of someone who may be able to help you. I promise I’ll do everything I can to get you back to normal. I’ll be back as soon as I track him down. Keep a low profile, and I’ll be back.” 

He forces himself to ignore the eager, hopeful look in the large eyes as Steve peers hopefully over the edge of the dock and walks quickly to his car. He needs to find Auntie Pua as soon as possible before Steve ends up as sushi, but before he does that he needs to make a couple of phone calls back to Jersey. As he climbs in his car, he feels eyes on him and looks through the windshield to see Chin Ho Kelly’s suspicious gaze as he helps load the handcuffed dealers into a police van down the dock. Great, Danny thinks. If he isn’t careful he is going to end up in jail on suspicion of kidnapping of a police officer himself, simply because he keeps turning up at crime scenes with all the evidence.

After conference calling the Grannies back home (both in their late nineties and sharp as tacks), assuring them he was being a good boy and eating well—and being soundly scolded in Italian and Gaelic for fibbing—he explains his and Steve’s case. They mutter together, cackle a bit, and then promise to send him some things to help him via Express Mail and warn him to be careful. Any witch powerful enough to do animal transformations even while being batshit crazy is a force to be reckoned with. So Danny hangs up feeling a bit more cheerful and hopeful that he won’t end up floating around hanging with Octo-Steve under the docks and heads out to find Mamo.

The big guy runs a surfboard rental shack on the beach near some of the big hotels and does a brisk business. Danny observes him from afar for a while and waits until its nearly closing time and he is alone and shutting down before hesitantly approaching him. He has mulled over in his head what to say, then decides honesty is the best approach.

The polite, blank look he gets from the big Islander as an unknown haole investigating McGarrett’s disappearance vanishes the instant Danny looks him in the eye and tells him that Steve had a run in with Auntie Pua and needs his help. The moment Mamo realizes exactly what Danny is saying and that he is in fact trying to help the little Stevie McGarrett Mamo once babysat, he gets clapped on the back (and nearly knocked on his face) and hauled off to Mamo’s comfortable bungalow which is heavily infested with pets and grandchildren, all whom fall upon their laughing grandfather with yells of delight as though they have not seen him in weeks.

Mamo’s plump, smiling wife Emelia serves them fresh pog and malasadas then gently shoos the horde of chattering kids out of the small living room, pausing only to pluck the plump toddler who is trying to strangle Danny with his own tie, out of his lap. Danny’s empty lap is immediately refilled by a fat, fluffy cat that expertly accessorizes his dark trousers with white hair and purrs expectantly at him until he obliges her with pets and chin scritches. 

Mamo is surprisingly blasé about the whole octopus transformation deal. Like Danny’s grannies, he is very impressed by the level of power it takes to perform that difficult a spell and for it to last as long as it has. He also brings up a possibility Danny had not really taken into consideration. 

“She may be one of the Old Ones, brah. Very powerful, very touchy and very dangerous. They take offense easily and are hard to placate. Her name means ‘flower’, so she could be one of the little earth akua. Let me think about this for a minute.”

“Crap.” Danny says morosely. 

He has read several of the Hawaiian mythology books he checked out of the library and knows that the Polynesian pantheon is big on smiting anyone dumb enough to offend them, but not so hot on forgiveness. He wonders if maybe Steve can adjust to being an octopus. He was a SEAL, right? So he must already like water. Danny really doesn’t want to get on the shit list of a minor Hawaiian goddess. He scratches his nose and huffs out a sigh and absently resumes petting the kitty, whose purr ratchets up a notch in approval.

Mamo hums thoughtfully to himself and folds his arms and gazes meditatively through the lanai doors out over the lush, tropical flower garden that is his back yard. He eyes the weary, little blond haole seated beside him with approval. It’s good that Stevie has found such a good aikane. He has been alone too long.

Danny finds himself blinking sleepily out at the bright flowers and sinking further down into the huge, obscenely soft sofa. He yawns and struggles to keep awake. He really hasn’t been getting much quality sleep lately. He is wretchedly homesick and misses seeing his baby girl every day and his security job bores him to tears and makes him feel like a slacker. Mamo’s humming combined with the cat’s purring is oddly soothing. Before he knows it, his eyes shut and he drifts off to sleep.

He snorts and wakes himself up two hours later to find he has sunk deep into the plush couch with the cat now busily washing his chin with a sandpaper coated tongue and Mamo still contemplating the back garden. The old man smiles at him, kind eyes crinkling with amusement at the corners, no doubt amused by Danny’s inadvertent nap. 

“I think we should take presents to Auntie Pua and ask her to change Stevie back.” he says, as Danny struggles to escape the evil couch’s soft clutches and reel upright. 

Danny stares at him and sputters, “It took you two hours to think of that?” he asks incredulously, running a hand through his ruffled hair.

Mamo shrugs. “You looked like you needed the rest.”

An hour or so later Danny escapes with a list of ‘gifts’ to acquire for Auntie Pua, the promise to meet Mamo at Dock 6 tomorrow at noon and a stomach full of Emelia’s delicious home cooking. A small horde of children and dogs trail him to his car and wave and bark goodbye. His new friend Q-Tip the cat, sits on the gatepost and watches serenely as he drives off. Danny is pretty sure he will be wearing cat hair for at least a week.

When Danny gets home he isn’t surprised to find an express air parcel waiting outside his apartment door. The Grannies don’t mess around once they set their minds on doing something, and things happen suspiciously fast when they do. He carries it inside and opens it cautiously; careful of the protective sigils inked on the wrapping paper that make his fingertips tingle (designed to insure that nosy delivery men keep their hands to themselves) on the kitchen table. Inside he finds a handsome, squat, glass bottle full of clear, sparkling liquid. There are herbs and flower petals swirling inside and the cork is carefully sealed with red wax stamped with a sigil of three entwined crescent moons.

There is also a note on lavender scented stationary, succinct and to the point, “Take her some nice flowers too, Daniel, and be polite.” 

Danny groans and leans back on his couch, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache. The Grannies have sent a bottle of their best home made moonshine as a gift to a ancient Hawaiian goddess and somehow, he just does not see this as going well. After all, he has read about Pele and he really has no desire to find himself arguing with an intoxicated earth goddess, because with a worse case scenario there could be fungus sprouting in unmentionable places or active volcanoes involved in his future. He is tempted to ignore the whole mess, but then he remembers Octo-Steve’s sad eyes and He really can’t leave the poor guy an octopus for the rest of his life if he can help it. Danny glumly suspects his propensity for meddling in other people’s business is inherited directly from his maternal bloodlines.

The next day he meets Mamo at the dock carefully carrying his share of the ho’ akupu. He spent most of the morning searching Honolulu for the prettiest leis and the finest chocolates to add to the Grannies’ gift of magical hootch and Mamo has brought a bunch of fresh green Ti leaves that he assures Danny are a traditional and respectful gift to native deities. They find her fishing off the dock, her battered shopping cart of belongings parked nearby. 

She scowls at the sight of Danny, but Mamo is soothing and respectful as he appeals to her and Danny is careful to keep his brash mouth shut, until she deigns to speak to him. When Mamo beckons him forward he squats before her with the offerings and pleads for Steve, gently pointing out that Steve is a native son to the islands and a good man, just so focused on the pursuit of justice that he forgot to be polite and that the men Steve had been chasing were very bad men who bring guns and drugs into the islands leaving pain and discord in their wake, damaging the native people, especially the young and foolish ones. 

Auntie Pua eyes his earnest face with narrowed eyes for several long minutes, then softens and accepts the offerings, draping the new leis over her hat and shoulders, popping open the box of chocolate and beaming with delight at the bottle of liquor. She uncorks it and breathes in the rich aroma, takes a fiery swig and sighs with pleasure, before burping delicately. She slaps Danny on the back so hard he nearly falls off the dock then speaks to Mamo, a long, musical string of what sound like instructions to Danny, whose knowledge of basic Hawaiian extends to aloha, mahalo and malasadas.

Mamo thanks her effusively and they carefully back off, leaving her to enjoy her gifts. As they walk back down the dock they hear her start to chant softly behind them, and it seems that the breeze sighs in response and that the waves murmur a reply under the dock. Mamo claps a hand on Danny’s back and briskly picks up his pace, beaming down at Danny.

“Good job! Now we got to find Stevie and break the spell!”

Danny trots at his side, frowning, hands waving in growing agitation.

“How? Did she tell you how? How do we break it?”

“Auntie says we fish him out of the water, then you know what to do.”

“Me?!” Danny squawks, “How will I know what to do?”

Mamo shrugs, unconcerned and they charge onward towards dock 6, or Steve’s last known hangout. They’re halfway there when they hear a piercing shriek followed by an outraged “My purse! He stole my purse!” 

Danny charges ahead of Mamo, intent on intercepting the young thief, who is running toward them, large handbag clutched like a football under his arm. His escape is hampered by the fact that he keeps peering over his shoulder to gape incredulously at his pursuer. 

Danny skids to a stop to gawk as well, because its not every day that you see a large, blue octopus in a yellow, wheeled industrial mop bucket using said mop and a broom to ‘paddle’, rolling briskly along the dock in hot pursuit of a juvenile purse snatcher, while several of his free arms vigorously hurl cleaning supplies at the would be thief. 

Danny has to admit that Steve has a hell of an aim, because a full bottle of ammonia connects smartly with the back of the kid’s knee and he yelps and tumbles ass over heels to land in a dazed heap at Danny’s feet. He has the kid cuffed in seconds (old habits, Danny always has a pair of handcuffs in his pocket) and he absently hands the purse and the kid off to a very amused Mamo before turning to Steve, wondering how in hell he is going to explain this to both the outraged tourist and the cops he sees approaching down the dock. Steve’s azure color, he notices is pulsing with agitated flares of brick red, or maybe that’s just from exertion? 

Anyway, he has to get Steve out of sight quickly, because he can see some curious fishermen also approaching from a nearby boat to lend a hand and they are carrying wickedly sharp gaffs and spear guns. Mamo steps up and says;

“I got this. You take care of Stevie, brah.”

He strides off down the dock, speechless, still gaping kid scruffed by the collar like a recalcitrant cat and towed along, purse in hand, to meet the cops.

Danny throws up his hands and peers heavenwards, not expecting help from above exactly, but sometimes a well-placed lightening bolt would be nice, you know? He turns to Steve, who is still ensconced in his mop bucket pursuit vehicle, and now looking extremely pleased with himself and turning a particularly satisfied shade of cobalt.

“What were you thinking? Do you want to end up sushi? DO you not know what ‘lay low’ means? You could have been killed you big, dumb lunk…gakkk!”

Because Danny suddenly finds himself wrapped firmly in at least four tentacles and yanked off his feet into an exuberant octo embrace, causing him to fall face first onto a very smug cephalopod. It’s like kissing a wet beanbag, and he gasps and flails and they both keel over, bucket and all, and roll off the side of the dock to land with a loud splash in the water below.

Danny sputters as he sinks, wincing as the mop handle smacks him in the head, and kicks and flails a bit, trying to remember which way is up and trying desperately not to inhale water. Before he can orientate himself, a pair of strong arms wrap around him and he is swiftly brought to the surface with a few powerful kicks from long, tanned legs. 

He spits water, sputters indignantly and opens his eyes to laughing blue ones, and a very naked Steve McGarrett smiling in his face, as they float beside the dock. Apparently Danny has somehow managed to break the curse, or auntie Pua is feeling generous. Before he can say anything, two big hands cup his surprised face and soft lips cover his and he is drawn into a kiss that takes what remains of his breath. He opens his eyes to a smiling Steve and Danny notes that the human Steve has the same smug expression as the cephalopod Steve and he now looks especially pleased with himself.

“So, that’s the best way to shut you up. I’ll remember that.” Steve says huskily, beaming at him. His face is so close that Danny can see his ridiculously long eyelashes and the different shades of blue and green in his eyes.

Before Danny can recover his wits and reply, they are interrupted by Mamo, several fisherman and the cops and before he knows it, he and Steve are fished from the sea, handed towels, and in Steve’s case, offered a pair of board shorts to cover his modesty and then Steve is smoothly explaining that he was held prisoner on a boat and has only recently escaped and swam to shore (and that no, he and Danny have not see a large blue octopus in a mop bucket, ha, ha, have you guys been into the pakalolo?) and Danny saw how exhausted he looked and jumped in to help him climb from the water, etc. etc. etc. 

In all, Steve lies extremely well for a law enforcement officer.

In no time Five-0 shows up and Steve is reunited with his team, embraced by a happily shrieking Kono, a smiling Chin, and a huge guy named Grover, and then surrounded by the milling chaos of his peers, friends and a cadre of reporters hustled off before Danny can say anything. 

Still dripping, with wet shoes in hand, he silently allows Mamo to escort him back to where he parked his car. It’s been a long day and suddenly all Danny wants is a hot shower, a cold beer and a nap. Mamo claps him on the shoulder, congratulates him on a job well done, warns him not to be a stranger and takes his leave. 

The next day the news of Steve’s miraculous escape from a crew of drug runners (who are now under arrest) is blared all over the news, his smiling photo standing next to a beaming Governor is splashed all over the media and there is absolutely no mention of an underpaid security guard or the big blue octopus that recently haunted the docks.

Danny tells himself that he is not disgruntled at all and that of course, that exuberant kiss meant nothing. After all, if he spent weeks as a giant octopus he would kiss the first person he saw after changing back too. So he makes sure to send his grannies their favorite flowers and chocolates for their help and advice, adeptly dodges their questions about Steve (whom they apparently think is his partner now) and always makes sure to be courteous to Auntie Pua if he sees her on his rounds. His boring life as a security guard goes on. Even a weekend with his beloved Grace fails to lighten his mood.

Two weeks later he is sitting at a table in the courtyard of the Hilton, gritting his teeth and struggling to get his temper under control, while his ex-wife smugly sips tea across from him. He has had more that enough of her shit and its all he can do to keep his mouth shut and not curse her to hell and back right there, or better yet call a hex hit on her with the Grannies back home. They were never fond of Rachel and now he knows why. She is snobbish, arrogant and self-entitled and its just gotten worse since she married into Stan’s money and now she has just informed him that she intends to file for full custody of Grace and that his best option –since you clearly do not have the means, Daniel—is to roll over and accept the reaming and not fight it.

He clenches his fists under the table, and takes a deep breath, but before he can open his mouth and say something he may regret later, a big hand clamps down on his shoulder and squeezes reassuringly and a deep voice announces with great satisfaction,

“There you are, Danno!”

And Commander Stephen J. McGarrett in full dress blues, complete with a shoulder full of fancy metals, plops himself down in the chair beside Danny like he has every right to do so, and gives Rachel a charming, shark like smile.

“You must be Rachel, Danny has told me a lot about you.”

She narrows her eyes at him, and replies coolly,

“Really? Because he hasn’t mentioned you at all.”

And it’s on.

In the next fifteen minutes of pure venomous, rapier like snark on Rachel’s side and cool, eviscerating replies on Steve’s, Danny learns that he is now a valued member of the Governor’s elite task force, partnered with Steve himself and a personal friend of the governor. In all, not a man to be fucked with because he has important friends all over the island and it would be a shame if Stan suddenly found himself losing all his important development contracts because his firm wasn’t quite right for the jobs anymore, and oops, looks like he won’t be buying that prime piece of property he was eyeing after all, due to the fact it’s the site of an ancient temple sacred to an obscure Hawaiian earth goddess.

It’s like watching a tennis match with fireballs and Danny nearly has whiplash trying to keep up. Ten minutes later, a furious, tight-lipped Rachel throws her napkin on the table and stalks off, with a frigid nod to Danny and a glare at Steve, who is calmly sipping the tall, tropical drink that the waitress set in front of him with a wink and smile. 

Jaw agape, Danny glares at the smug bastard and sputters out a voiceless protest. He feels kind of like a damsel rescued from a dragon without her consent. His hands start knifing the air, and one finger ends up pointing directly at Steve’s nose, as he growls,

“What. The Hell? Danno? Where did you come up with that? Also, I don’t recall signing up at Five-0! And I do NOT need rescuing from the harridan that is my ex-wife, thank you very much! I can fight my own damned battles, Steven!”

Steve merely takes another sip of his drink and raises his brows.

“Now you won’t have to, Danno. We’re partners and partners look out for each other. It took me a while to clean up that mess on the docks and apologize properly to Auntie Pua, but I’m here now and everything will be fine. I won’t let Rachel take Grace from you.”

Danny clamps his mouth shut and stares in wonder at the calm face of the man beside him, wondering exactly what type of dossier Steve has been busily accumulating on him. He makes a mental note to check his apartment and car for bugs.

“There is something wrong with you. You know this, right?”

Steve just beams at him.

“Would you like to see your new office now, Danny?”

Danny can only follow along, dazed, as Steve drapes a long arm over his shoulders and escorts him to the Five-0 offices which have prime real estate in the Iolani Palace. His new office is very nice indeed, with a first class computer and brand new, sleek furniture. He can already picture his framed photo of Gracie sitting neatly on the desk. Steve proudly introduces him to his new teammates, who all appear genuinely delighted to meet him and inform him they are very glad he is joining the team and that his help finding evidence about Steve’s disappearance was invaluable. Apparently he was hand picked by the Governor himself, and his file is very impressive. 

Danny suspects that ‘hand picked’ meant that his personnel file from HPD was personally dropped on the Governor’s desk by Steve, whose rapid take down of a major smuggling and drug running ring, which resulted in the arrest of several known terrorists and the confiscation of several million dollars in illicit funds has him pretty much the Governor’s golden boy. He is tempted to protest, but after a glance at his new salary and benefits package and being handed the keys of a sweet, new Camaro as a company ride, he decides wisely to keep his mouth shut.

After all, he doesn’t want to accidentally offend Auntie Pua, because there is no way in hell his sudden reversal of fortune is in any way natural. His luck just isn’t that good.

A few weeks later, he and Steve are strolling along the edge of Steve’s private beach, shoes in hand after a delicious team barbeque held on Steve’s lanai. Its been one of the most active weeks of Danny’s life, and although he refuses to admit it, the most exhilarating. For the first time in months he has felt engaged and in the moment, not to mention flushed with adrenaline after some hair raising car chases with Steve behind the wheel. There is nothing like foot pursuit of heavily armed robbers to burn off the morning malasadas.

He’s never had a partner like Steve before. The man has all the social skills of a Neanderthal combined with boyish charm and focused enthusiasm and an impressive skill set. He charges into situations that Danny prefers to avoid at all costs, uses grenades to open locked doors instead of warrants, throws suspects into shark cages and has managed to get Danny shot his first week at work. 

Steve McGarrett is never boring.

Yet somehow, they mesh. They bicker constantly over everything from proper police procedure to who does the paperwork to how many malasadas Danny can have for breakfast. Yet, wherever Steve leads, Danny is close on his heels and has his back and humming beneath it all is a simmering throb of pure sexual attraction that often as not leaves Danny flushed and at a loss of words. 

They get each other on a level that few married couples achieve in a lifetime. Its downright disconcerting to Danny, especially since he gets asked at least once a week by both cops and perps how long they have been married, and his grannies have taken to calling and hinting that they look forward to meeting Daniel’s ‘young man, and ‘Christ, will you get a move on Daniel, we are not getting any younger.’

The sun is setting over the waves that lap at their bare feet and it’s the end of another perfect, tropical day in paradise. Danny lifts his face to the cool breeze and sighs happily. It’s been a long time since he felt this content. He stops when Steve does, the taller man turning to face him, a smirk on his handsome face as he twirls a red hibiscus blossom in his long fingers before stepping close and tucking it gently behind Danny’s left ear.

Danny’s brows nearly climb into his hairline at the wordless declaration.

“Flowers now? Really, Steve? Do I need to remind you that I am not some delicate, island maiden?”

Steve just gives him that wide delighted grin that is impossible to resist, and Danny suddenly realizes that they are standing very close together, close enough to feel Steve’s body heat, to see the curl of his ridiculously long lashes. He blinks when Steve leans in, big arms curling gently around his shoulders, nose nudging his as soft, smiling lips take his in the sweetest of kisses. He finds himself raising his head and responding automatically, although he has never kissed another guy romantically in his life.

Despite the height difference they fit here too, in all the ways that count.

The kisses intensify, and it’s some time before they reluctantly break apart, both men breathing a bit heavy. Danny’s lips are swollen and tingling, Steve’s eyes dark with desire. 

Sighing happily, Steve wraps an arm around Danny’s shoulders and tucks him close under his arm (where he fits perfectly) and they turn in sync to stroll lazily back down the beach to the house. He intends to take his time here, this is the first and only courtship he intends to pursue.

Danny of course cannot stay silent to save his life. He raises a hand to touch the flower still tucked behind his ear and leans into Steve and peers up into the handsome face.

“So what’s the deal with the flower? Is it some kind of secret code? Am I officially off the market now?” He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Wait a minute! Are you courting me, McGarrett? Did Auntie Pua put you up to this?”

Steve feels a wide grin stretch across his face as the hands start flying and the rant begins, something about masculinity and flowers and what is wrong with a nice bouquet of roses, Steven, etc. etc. etc. but Danny doesn’t remove the blossom and Steve beams happily down at his partner, his soon to be lover and Gods and Goddesses willing his life partner, and sends a silent thank you out on the trade winds to a small, nearly forgotten earth goddess who has given him the greatest gift of his life. Spending long, frustrating weeks as an octopus was totally worth it, it earned him Danny.

As they approach the warm lights of his lanai, where his new family and team are still gathered laughing at the table, a little breeze ruffles his hair and teases him with the delicate scent of white ginger and he is pretty sure he hears a soft, feminine chuckle. For the very first time in years, Steve feels like he has finally come home. 

 

FINI

5.30.15


End file.
